


Nothing Matters

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Betrayal, Boredom, Doggy Style, F/M, Masturbation, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arianne lets the days in the tower slip away – it no longer matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Matters

Arianne lets the days in the tower slip away – it no longer matters. One evening when sleep won't come, she leafs through the tome about dragons, but even the section on the great beasts' mating habits fails to rouse her.

 _"When he comes into his season, the male bellows to attract his females, and his heat rises so fiercely that none but other dragons may approach. The females, for their part, give off a pungent, salty scent from the throat glands and posture with their wings lowered to signal their readiness for mating. Upon mounting the primary female, the male grips her shoulder with his teeth, rarely doing her more than slight injury – indeed, she is far more likely to wound him, particularly once he is spent. Their tails entwined, he enters her…"_

She tries sliding her fingers between her legs, for this is the closest thing to a romance she has at her disposal, but it's no use. At last, she bores herself into resigned slumber.

She's wakened by a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes adjust slowly, but she catches the glint of silver hair and smells the lemonwater on his breath. "Have you come to rescue me or kill me?"

"If I were planning to kill you, why would I wake you first? Do you think me such a monster than I'd enjoy hearing your screams? Hurry up." He rips off her blanket. Her silk night-shift is twisted up around her hips, and she parts her thighs, smiling. "There's no time for that," he snaps, but she can tell he's tempted.

"I've wanted you for so long," she says, dragging him down into the bed. He lets fall his bloodstained sword with a desperate groan.

It's not like with poor, sweet, dead Arys. Darkstar doesn't tell her it's wrong, his hands are skilled rather than clumsy, and he doesn't spill his seed too soon. He's rough only from haste, she thinks, and, given more leisurely surroundings, would make a fine lover. But it's been too long since anything but her own fingers have been inside her, and they're both too impatient for niceties. She's in as much of a hurry as he is, clutching him and moaning against the hollow of his throat. When he rolls her over, she lifts her backside to let him slide in, and pushes back, with a low growl of satisfaction, to fill herself. His hands cup her heavy breasts as they sway beneath her, and his breath comes in short hitches as he buries himself in her slick cleft again and again. Soon his nails bite constellations of half-moons into her shoulders, but he doesn't cry out until the very end.

By then she can hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, and wonders if he'll be able to fight their way free, or be captured – or killed. Either way, it doesn't matter. "I kept him busy," she imagines herself saying, "until the guards came. See, Father?"


End file.
